


Unfucktheworld

by Joybells92



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood and Gore, Drama, Drug Use, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Ghouls, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joybells92/pseuds/Joybells92
Summary: "She spoons, and she sings.”“--err, what now?”“Just a couple things to be aware of if you start traveling with her –hell, I woulda appreciated a warning before getting mixed up this one.” the friendly disclaimer followed by an eye roll and sigh passed the side smirked lips of Diamond City’s own infamous and sole reporter, Piper Wright; and the one she credited for such antics was the nearly as infamous Vault 111 Dweller who had been making quite the splash in the Commonwealth as of late.





	1. Blue

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a song by the same name by Angel Olsen (give it a listen if you like Indie music); I felt it was the perfect fit for this story about a woman forced to make sense of a senseless world.  
> This is my first piece of fiction I've ever posted anywhere; I'd be utterly thrilled if anyone took the time to read it and comment their thoughts and opinions. (This is an ongoing story; more will be posted as more is written.)

"She spoons, and she sings.”

“--err, what now?”

“Just a couple things to be aware of if you start traveling with her –hell, I woulda appreciated a warning before getting mixed up this one.” the friendly disclaimer followed by an eye roll and sigh passed the side smirked lips of Diamond City’s own infamous and sole reporter, Piper Wright; and the one she credited for such antics was the nearly as infamous Vault 111 Dweller who had been making quite the splash in the Commonwealth as of late.

“Heh, good to know.” A dark and gravelly voice welcomed Piper’s caution. The pair of nearly black irises hid beneath the shade of a worn tri-corner hat and shifted from the cheerful girl-about-town to the starkly quiet, blue-clad presence beside her. “But I gotta tell ya, sis, you’ll be needin’ to choke down your fair share of Rad-X if you’re plannin’ on spoonin’ this bundle of irradiated joy.”

The regally attired ghoul suspected his words fell on deaf ears leering at the dead pan expression smeared across her face; in fact he was sure she hadn’t heard a damn thing he or anyone else said unless it involved offering the wacko a job. He might have reconsidered his decision to accompany the virtual stranger but he was well overdue some respite from his mayoral duties –and knew it.  
Keeping his recent confession in mind that no one should be this comfortable for this long; he excused the vault dweller’s peculiarities as long as it meant wreaking havoc and serving wasteland justice to the Commonwealth. And frankly he was more than curious to find out what made the enigma before him tick. Spoons and sings... by looking at her it was just too hard to believe.

“Alright then!” Piper chimed in smacking her hands together, “now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I make my way back to Nat before the lovely mayor McDonough runs her off on my account! Seems the political types don’t take too kindly when you expose their dirty little secrets to the masses.” She twirled toward her catatonic companion and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, “Be careful out there, Blue. And you better come visit me again soon! I’ll be itching to write a follow up story to our first. Pretty sure you left us all with more questions than answers... and may have even started a few bizarre rumors.”

Blue cranked her small and pointed chin to her slender neck in a single, rigid nod while offering an awkward thumbs up in reply.

Piper snorted, “You’re a real fish out of water, you know that? Just don’t get yourself killed.” The renegade reporter gave one more weary smile to her friend then turned again to their ghoulish company thrusting an open palm toward his frayed, red frock. “Hancock, it’s been a pleasure; out of all of the mayors I’ve met, I dislike you the least!”

“Well color me flattered.” Hancock moved his lit cigarette from his fingers to his charred, thin lips before accepting Piper’s handshake.

Keeping his hand in hers she continued, “I trust you’ll take good care of our friend here. And if we meet again, I’d love to get a quote from the always effervescent Mayor of Goodneighbor -actually, I bet you’d make a great story, yourself! Just something to think about.” She released her grip and ended her impromptu proposal with a minx-like wink in his direction.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath; my mysterious side is one of the few things I still got going for me, that and my always effervescent personality of course,” Hancock’s words breathed out with a puff of smoke and past the cigarette that dangled off the side of his toothy grin. Returning her wink he motioned a hand toward the gates of his little community. “I’ll walk ya out; gotta few questions of my own to ask before you skedaddle.”

He moved in step alongside Piper, turning back only to excuse himself from the unique vault dweller’s presence; and instead found she had already run off perusing the goods of the local vendor stands.

“She does that, a lot.” Piper said showing a knowing smile. “You’ll have to keep a close eye on her. And don’t underestimate her recklessness -especially around heights, or as she likes to put it: shortcuts.”

“Heights? Like hopping off buildings or some shit?” Hancock snickered at the notion but Piper was quick to cut in.

“Like I said, shortcuts.”

His cheeky grin instantly twisted into a concerned frown. “Huh... sure sounds like trouble to me, I’ll guess we’ll see if it’s my kind of trouble… or not. Which leads me to first question, what’s her deal? I mean she’s uh, different even for a vault dweller.”

Piper took a moment to consider her words before answering, then rifled through the patchwork messenger bag that hung from her shoulder. She pulled out a folded stack of paper and placed it in his scarred hands. “This is based on interview we did, and everything I know about her -straight from the horse’s mouth as they say. I think you’ll find it an interesting read –I personally love the part about guinea pigs.”

“Guinea pigs..?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put much stock into it. Although it did tell me one thing, whatever it is that made her this way, she doesn’t want to talk about it.” She paused for another moment, allowing Hancock to read her somber expression before snapping back to her perky self. “Look, she’s weird, like really weird… but she’s one of the good guys and she needs all the help she can get.”

Hancock’s hairless brow lowered into his inky stare.

“Hey, it was my idea that she come to Goodneighbor in the first place. She needed heavy artillery and the caps to get them; it’s no secret your Kleo supplies the deadliest gear this side the Boston Common; and there’s never a shortage of work in your little town;” She jabbed a meaningful finger into his torn petticoat and went on, “or so my connections tell me. Anyway I should really let her give you the why and how details on what’s to come. Wish I could I stay and see how this all pans out, but I’ve got my own life to lead and that includes a lippy little sister that takes a bit too much after me –dangerously so.”

Hancock understood the cue and let her on her way watching as she slipped through the makeshift gate waving a careless hand in goodbye till the door met the metal frame. He took a long drag from his smoke and reflected once more on his choice to accompany this Blue character; he felt he could relate to Piper’s earlier lament as he too was left with more questions than answers.

“All in good time,” he muttered under his breath, flicking the fizzled butt of his cigarette from his hand onto the littered concrete below.


	2. Not the Talkative Type

Hancock stood in his normal nesting spot, back against the faded bricks of the old statehouse, lighting another crinkled cigarette. It hadn’t been more than hour since his last conversation with the impishly vague reporter that he was left waiting for a strange Vault 111 Dweller busy tinkering at Kleo’s workbench in the nearby storefront. He thought it _really something_ the sultry yet temperamental Assaultron allowed -by all means, a random drifter to handle her tools. _Must have taken a liking to the girl_. 

At least a month had gone by since her first appearance in Goodneighbor. Displaying a bold _show of dominance_ by popping Finn –resident con and constant pain in the ass, she had made a lasting impression on the rebel mayor her first few steps into town. Hancock considered it a favor, having been meaning to take care of the lout himself the next time he dare try to pull that _extortion shit_ on a newcomer.

Since then, the vault dweller had made herself busy picking up any work his _little town_ could offer, even going so far as to breaking into his own storehouse –though supposedly unknowingly. Hancock pardoned the trespass upon her show of loyalty by turning on her conniving employer. Another _pain in his ass_ taken out at her hands. Regardless of how the last hit bothered him more so than the first, _it had to be done_ ; and the vault dweller had proven herself to be reliable if anything.   

 From where he stood, he was too far away to scrutinize her handiwork and just near enough to watch as her arms and back strained in rhythm with the hammering and twisting of nails, screws and whatever else she was _shambling shit together with_. He found himself eager to see the fruits of her labor. There was something worth admiring about a person lost in their craft and after waiting this long _it’s gotta be something good_. 

Then came the piercing clanging of metal against metal; an alarming clunk; and then a thud. Her arms dropped to her sides like dead weight with her hands free of any tools. She stood motionless for a solid beat before spinning on her heal toward Kleo at her stand. Some unknown words were exchanged, then Kleo pulled out a large shelf from under her counter. An array of deadly weapons glistened. Hancock knew of the regular stock the Assualtron supplied: grenades, mines, modded pistols, and even primitive tools like brass knuckles or switchblades. He continued to watch as the Vault Dweller hovered her greedy hands above the lethal display fingers wiggling, then dive in for fistfuls of explosives.

When at last it appeared she’d finished her transaction armed with a cross-body belt of grenades, a scoped sniper rifle slung to her back, and a snubbed .44 pistol holstered in a strap around her thigh, she turned toward the newly hiatus mayor, donned in black shades and a lit cigar between her perfect teeth. He felt a bit slack jawed as she approached him fully outfitted and ready for business. She had presence. And then she talked.

 “So, you in?” A straightforward question for the staggered ghoul before her.

His open mouth stretched into a devilish grin. “You know it, sister.” 

“Alright then, Johnny,” she slyly responded. “Let’s boogey.” 

In spite of how weary he’d become of this recently developed parrot routine, he indulged in it all the same, “uh, _Johnny_?” 

– _Ignored again_. Hancock heaved a ragged breath as she stretched a straight and resolute leg toward the exit of Goodneighbor, undoubtedly assuming her newly met traveling companion would be following close behind. 

At this point he spared himself the shock of being met with her continued disregard and figured it’d be better to just get used to it sooner than later. He grabbed his handy sawed-off shotgun that had been idling against the bricked relic alongside him and threw it against his shoulder; then with his other hand tugged at the _star spangled_ belt of his slouched trousers and shifted them back into place before catching up with his inscrutable partner.

Hancock was lithe enough to slide through the swinging of the door she carelessly thrusted open upon her march into the Fens; then much to his chagrin found himself pinned between the heavy metal braced door –which had unapologetically slapped against his backside as it shut- and the back of an armored vault suit in front him.

“Gah! Hey, maybe give a ghoul a warning before turning statue there, leader; imagine how’d that feel if I still had a nose...” He bemoaned while stroking the part of his face that collided with the wooden stock of her rifle. But of course, she remained as silent and still as the statue she was described as; which in turned frustrated _the_ _hell outta_ him all the more. “Okay, okay. I get you’re not the talkative type, but seriously we’re gonna have to open the lines of communication up a little more if we ever have a shot of making this whole team thing work... ya dig?” 

Finally, she seemed to respond to his imploring turning slowly to face him; though he didn’t expect to see her normally rosy complexion a sickly shade of green. Her cheeks were puffed out while her lit cigar limply hung off the edge of her bottom lip. 

“That doesn’t look good...” 

Her face deflated into her neck; he was certain she was about to ralph. Hastily Hancock sidled out of the way of the imminent projectile’s path. He was duly relieved she somehow managed to hold back her vomit, simply spitting out the cigar onto the broken cement beneath them. 

“Been there, sister; must have been one hell of a rager. You, uh, good to keep going?” 

She was not. Her head lazily wobbled back and forth until the rest of her started to sway as well. Hancock’s quick reflexes triggered, and he aptly caught her listless body as it timbered backwards. 

“Well that answers that,” he said through a strained breath attempting to lift her further off the ground and into the hold of his arms.


	3. Those Dear Hearts & Gentle People

The moon was high, and all was calm within the gated community of Goodneighbor. The drifters found their solace each with their poison of choice serenaded by the lovely Magnolia; the Neighborhood Watch huddled around the stairway entrance of the Third Rail just to catch the echo of her melodic crooning; the users were curled on their crude mattresses adrift in their drug induced slumber; and, even the triggermen, hidden away in the back alleys, partook in a peaceful lull with their faded fedoras covering heavy eyes, snuggled against the cool touch of their sub machine guns. It seemed the good people of this quiet village cobbled together by bandits, outcasts, and killers could rest easy even away from the protective reach of their stalwart mayor. Then, the trusted door of Goodneighbor with its brightly orange paint sparsely clung onto its weathered veins was nearly broke in two by the force of an angry foot. 

"Where the hell is everybody!?” A thick dust cloud wafted through the open doorway and past the silhouette of their own Mayor Hancock, his arms cradling the unconscious Vault 111 Dweller. “I’m gone two minutes, and everyone decides it’s quitting time?!”

 Kleo and Daisy were the first to greet their encumbered mayor, hurriedly emerging from their own hideaways of their prospective stores; then not too far behind came the befuddled gaggle of Goodneighbor’s guardsmen rounding the corner of the old Statehouse and each bearing a _caught in the act_ expression. 

“Now can somebody help me get this loon upstairs before my arms tear off!?” 


	4. A Baby

Back within the confines of his historic dwellings, Hancock was left waiting yet again for the peculiar woman in blue. She had been carried in by two of the Neighborhood Watch goons and gently laid upon an old sofa shoved against an eroded wall of the _head-honcho_ ghoul’s so-called office. Daisy had followed the lot inside carrying in a basin of water and a few helpful essentials under her arm. She seated herself on the edge of the sofa next to the vault dweller’s combat-booted feet and placed the filled basin, a can of purified water, a clean dishrag, and a change of clothes onto the nearby coffee table littered by drug paraphernalia. 

“Poor Jo,” the raspy yet sweet tone of her voice uttered some certain words that caught the attention of her fellow ghoulish onlooker. 

“Jo, huh?” Hancock spoke from an ill lit corner of the room. He leaned against the decaying plaster and fished his hands through his pockets. “Nice to put a name to the face finally.” 

Daisy said nothing to this, instead focused on soaking the rag in the basin’s water, tightly wringing it of its excess, then smoothing it over the sleeping face of her friend. “She looks dehydrated, and is it just me or does she seem _strung out_?” 

“Thought as much,” he casually replied, uncovering a fresh cigarette from his coat. “Had enough bad hangovers to recognize one.” He lit the smoke placed between his lips and shook the flame from the matchstick pinched between his fingers. He moved his focus back onto Daisy studying her thoughtful interaction with the unconscious body. “So, what can you tell me about this vault dweller, Daisy?” 

“Not much,” she said placing a blighted hand against Jo’s cold cheek. “Stuck her neck out for me when she first showed up asking for work. Found out we have a few things in common.”

“Yeah?” He questioned behind wavy threads of smoke that shrouded his face.

“Yeah, probably ran into each other at the library without even realizing it... some two hundred years ago.”

A hush fell over the dilapidated room, one in which Hancock struggled to find his next question.

“I don’t know the details,” Daisy quick to answer the awkward silence. “My guess it has something to do with this _jumpsuit_ she’s wearing,” referencing the iconic uniform of Vaultech’s underground residents. It was common knowledge to even the remaining civilization of a fallen world that Vaultech was a prewar organization credited for conducting bizarre and most often cruel experiments on their unsuspecting denizens. “She did hint that she was looking for someone.”

Hancock peered from under his prized hat and into her similarly dark eyes, “so I’ve heard.” 

Daisy faced her mayor directly and solemnly whispered, “A baby.” 

Hancock was not expecting that.


	5. Sleeping Beauty

It was late into night and Daisy had long since taken her leave from Hancock’s quarters. He was left alone with Jo stilled sprawled out on the sofa sleeping off whatever bender she was coming down from. She had been changed out of her vault suit and into a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of men’s slacks clearly too big for her, compliments of the attentive general goods store clerk. 

 Sitting at his desk with his feet propped up in front of him, he prepared a syringe filled with a liquid form of Addictol, a staple in any user’s arsenal. It usually came packaged as a type of inhaler, but Hancock fancied himself something of a chemist having figured out how to liquify the detoxifying substance years ago. It especially came in handy in times like this when an unconscious junkie _needed detoxing_. 

With the needle ready, Hancock scooted his wheeled desk chair next Jo’s sleeping body. He gently lifted her arm nearest him and laid it across his lap allowing him to see the evidence of her using. The tender skin of her cubital fossa -a term he learned from Dr. Amari down at the Memory Den, was darkly bruised and riddled with needle marks each circled by black spider webbed veins. 

“Damn... what have you been up to, lady?” He whispered with an edge of compassion in his hushed voice.  

It was obvious to him he wouldn’t be injecting anything into that arm. Instead, he wiggled a hand under her back and lifted her upper body towards his seated position. Her head of loose and matted dark brown hair swung toward his chest just under his chin where it stayed until he could locate her other arm free of puncture wounds, and the spot where he would be able to inject the medicine. Before sticking her with the needle he mindfully tied a braided cloth string around her arm and pulled it taught enough to expose a healthy vein. 

“Jackpot,” he muttered into the messy tendrils of hair that tickled the remnant of his nose. Carefully he fed the needle into the bulged lifeline until the syringe was empty of its contents. After pulling it from her skin he skillfully flicked the device from his hand while his other hand supplied a small bandage to cover the spot of blood that emerged with the needle’s exit. 

“There we go, princess, all patched up.” Hancock gently gripped her shoulders and slowly laid her back onto the sofa. He didn’t intend to, but he stalled when her back met the tattered cushion, his face just above her own. It dawned on him that this was the first time he got a good look at her.

Despite the dark, purplish bags that showed many a sleepless night or the peeling of her chapped, rosebud shaped lips she was quite _the looker_ : a slight pointed, button nose; finely arched, youthful brows that matched her dark walnut hair; and large, roundish eyes with long black lashes that skirted along the edges of her closed eyelids.

Plenty of other women in the Commonwealth bore the same gaunt and faraway look he was used to seeing, and yet there was something more delicate to her features hidden underneath the wear and tear of the waste –not to mention, _she. was. stacked._ This never dictated his taste in women before, although it _didn’t hurt either_. Hancock could appreciate _a pretty package_ no matter its shape or size _especially one as shapely as this_.

 However unintentional his ogling may have been it was cut short at the sudden opening of those black lashed and brightly blue eyes.

 “Oh shit!” Hancock jerked backward almost falling out of his chair, his heart about to burst from the thin layer of skin he still had left over his chest. He balked at himself for being so uncharacteristically lecherous, or maybe that wasn’t so unlike him after all; either way he prepared himself for the impending reprisal. Lo, fate had smiled upon him as he witnessed with great relief her open sapphire gaze roll back asleep seemingly unaware of ever being _creeped_ _on_.

 Left stunned, he sat with his mouth agape. “Well that’s a freebie.” Accepting the stroke of luck awarded to him, he hopped to his feet while straightening the lapels of his coat. “Time for a drink.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope its obvious but just in case it's not, I used italicizes to indicate Hancock's personal thoughts. Hopefully that came across on its own but I don't know! This is my first fanfiction so I'm a little green!


	6. Who Are You?

“Bacon!” Jo sprung forward from the busted chase she found herself on by the rousing of her own mouthwatering outburst. 

Fahrenheit stood by the open doorway there to meet her with arms crossed and brow knitted. “The fuck?”

Dusty streaks of sunlight peeked through the slats of the surrounding barred windows and illuminated the reputable bodyguard’s fiery red locks, and further showcased the what the fuck look upon her freckled face.   
Jo at once remembered her as the menacing ginger whose earlier heeding spared her from earning Hancock’s wrath. She was in some measure grateful for the small mercy extended to her having unwittingly trespassed into the personal storehouses of the very mayor whose generosity was only outmatched by his scorn. 

“Heyyy, it’s you.” Her half-baked stare sluggishly met the intense gleam of Fahrenheit’s emerald glare. 

Peering down to the crumpled finger pointed in her direction, the sour-faced redhead reluctantly worked her way up past the vault dweller’s stretched mouth, yawing its greeting, to the patch of oily hair smooshed against her rosy cheek -the rest of which stood on end in an impressive matted display. 

“Hancock!” Fahrenheit abruptly shouted, “The weirdo’s awake! You’re right, she’s super weird!” Then slithering past the wooden doorframe, she disappeared into the next room, still calling after her employer. 

Jo, unaffected by the bodyguard’s hasty exit, slumped her shoulders and dropped her hand to her lap. She pressed her lips together in a kind of disinterested pout and proceeded to take a gander at her current dwellings. How she ended waking up in the mayor’s office was a mystery to her. Mindlessly scanning over the shabby room while collecting her thoughts, she noticed a cracked mirror hung cockeyed on the wall opposite her. Her sunken, dark eyes rested on the disheveled reflection in triplicate as she stared at the unrecognizable, empty vessel that appeared before her. 

“Mornin’, sunshine!” 

Without given another moment to dissect the stranger in the mirror the dapper Mayor Hancock made his entrance. Briskly he walked past her lounging, the tails of his coat surfing the wind from his stride until he seated himself at his desk. “So, how d’ya feel?” 

Hardly surprised, Jo considered his question squeezing her eyes shut and reaching a hand to her chin. “Hmm. Different.” 

“Well, damn! You’re actually talkin’ to me so I’d say that’s a pretty good sign.” 

Her dead pan stare studied his suspiciously sunny disposition. Her disinterested pout returned. “You dress me, then?” She asked while pinching a corner of the white tee she had awoken in. 

“Wha, oh hoh-no…” He was slightly caught off by the question.

“Got a look at the goods, eh?” 

Her inexpressive tone was as flat as ever; it made his eye twitch and the uneasy smirk on his face stretch even further. “No, no, no. That was all Daisy.” 

She wordlessly stared into his black eyes. He felt the awkward pain of her silence and was undeniably put off by her unreadable mug. This was a unique situation for the typically charismatic ghoul; he was at most quick to intervene with a clever witticism or pert comeback; but his game was off with this one –and he hated it.

“Nah, I’m just shitting ya.” She at last said, plainly even. 

Hancock’s eyes bulged with the quick jerk of his head. He forced a troubled chuckle as her words slowly settled in. “You sure gotta way with people, sis. You play cards?” 

“Nope,” she countered bluntly as she wrestled the sheet, she awoke covered with, off her and the sofa. She peered at the floor just off the cushion’s edge; seemingly unsatisfied with her findings, or lack thereof, she proceeded to feverishly feel between the folds of her seat. “So, where’s my stuff?” 

“Your gear’s in the corner,” he said pointing to the area behind his desk, “Except your fancy blue suit, you’ll have to talk to Daisy bout that one. Think she had plans to wash it after peeling it off you –along with an attractive and uh pungent layer of smut. That baby had a lot of miles put into it.” 

This time Jo’s eyes bulged. She jumped to her feet in a clear panic. 

“Woah now! Where’s the fire? You’ll get it back,” Hancock stood as well miming a calm down action with his hands. “You should really take it easy after your little fainting spell last night.” 

Jo had looked as if she might sprint off like a spooked Radstag Doe, but Hancock’s cautious reminder jogged her memory well enough to stop her in her tracks. “Yeah... I passed out.” 

Another pause ensued between them; the silence only broke when the men’s slacks, she had been dressed in, lost their grip on her small midsection, dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Her head then dropped down in a similar fashion toward the bunch of cloth coiled around her ankles. “Think I’d like my jumpsuit back now.”

There was no concealing his amusement at the happy accident, a sincere laugh bursting through his reply, “Sure thing, princess; but before you go streaking through Goodneighbor on your way to Daisy how ‘bout a little chat?”

Hancock removed his frock in a smooth motion and offered its covering to the exposed vault dweller. Jo remained unmoved and pants-less. He scoffed and impatiently threw the jacket over her shoulders and pulled the opening shut using her crisscrossed hands as the clasp. Then grabbing either side of her closed arms he forced her back onto the sofa.   
“Sit. Talk.”

Jo blinked in a daze. “O-okay.”

“Good. Good.” He was pleased with her compliance and seated himself on the edge of coffee table in front of her milky bare legs, closed but scarcely covered by the length of his coat. Focus man!

“If you think I don’t know everything that goes on in my little town, you’d be sadly mistaken. That said, I’m well aware of the reputation you’ve built here. I mean hell, sounded like a damn good time taking up with you, what with all the shit you find yourself in.”

Jo watched Hancock flash his trademarked devilish smile to credit her troublesome adventures thus far.

“Then it hit me –I don’t actually know a damn thing about you. So, tell me, who are you, Jo?”

“That’s a rather loaded question.”

“And that’s the most I’ve heard you say.” Hancock leaned forward with his hands clasped and elbows pinned against his spread legs. 

“This some sort of interrogation?” Jo leaned forward in return.

Hancock raised an eyebrow and moved back; sensing her rising hostility he decided to ease up on the aggressive approach. He planned to be direct but not an asshole. 

“Not at all. Merely tryin’ to get to know the kind of trouble I’m about to step into, catch my drift?”

She retreated into the back rest of the sofa, and rolled her head releasing few cracks from her stiff neck. “Alright. I get it.” Then wiggling her shoulders free from the unraveling coat, she stretched her arms out in front of her. His jacket slipped off from her skin; though she didn’t seem bothered by it, dutifully returning to obliging his desire to get to know her. “His name’s Kellogg.”

“Kellogg? Why does that sound familiar?”

“He’s mercenary, a dog of the Institute, and the piece of shit that stole my baby.”

A dark shadow fell across her. An evocative and violent rage emanated from her scowl meant for someone else. “He’s holed up in Fort Hagen.”

“Shit, Jo. I heard you were looking for a baby, but… I had no idea.” Hancock moved his eyes from her haunting countenance to his scuffed buckled boots, feeling a small sense of shame for prying so brazenly.

“No. You didn’t.”

Hancock dragged a hand across his face to his chin, “How do you know all this?” He couldn’t resist the urge to ask; there were too many questions. “I mean, you somehow find the fucker, but… what?”

She dropped her cheek to her shoulder and closed her eyes before answering, “A short while after leaving the vault… I somehow managed to get in touch with a detective from Diamond City.”

“Nicky, huh? Should’ve known.” He interjected, “That’s the kinda help worth havin.”

“Right. It was with his help we tracked down Kellogg’s hideout.”

“Not quite what you hoped?” Hancock asked mimicking Jo’s tilted expression.

“Not quite.” She heaved a heavy breath. “Too many synths, too many traps. I barely made it through the doors without nearly taking a bullet to the brain. But damned if I was gonna leave before filling that cocksucker with every bit of lead in my arsenal.” Jo stopped and bit her lip, holding back a well of emotion behind her soulless eyes. “Would’ve been killed, if it wasn’t for Valentine. He had to drag me out. There was no way we were gonna get to his bunker the I way I was. I was shit with a gun -too green. Too fucking weak.” 

Jo went quiet again with her face turned away from his. Hancock was patient for her to continue, part of him unsure how to answer the silence regardless. 

“So now,” she finally resumed, her voice low, “I don’t know how much time I have left to reach the bastard before he runs off and finds a better hiding spot.” She then stood up, clutching the neck of his coat in her vice-like grip before flinging it into his lap. “You wanted you to get to know me; that’s all there is to know. Keep in mind, you don’t owe me a thing and I’m not begging for help. If you still want to travel with me, it will be at your own discretion.”

She pulled the disgraced pile of pants back over her legs and while holding them in place with an angry fist took her leave.

Fahrenheit lingered on the other side of Hancock’s quarters and watched with crossed arms as Jo hurriedly walked past and descend the spiral staircase with purpose. Seeing the vault dweller vanish into the floor below she turned to bare a disappointed grimace through the open doorway at the ghoul currently at a loss for words.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re shit with women?”

Like a dark shadow Hancock moved from his seat at the messy coffee table to the rickety double doors of his office where he met her coppery sneer with a sneer of his own. His hands gripped onto the smudged brass handles; and before wilding forcing the opening shut, he hissed inches from her indignant face, “Get the hell outta here.”

“Woof. Touchy,” she whispered as she returned to her post situated against the very doors that trembled still from Hancock’s ferocity.


	7. With This Ring

Daisy stood at her counter pointlessly wiping away at the grime that would never relent. It was something to do while she awaited patronage of any kind; and soon enough she heard a pair of footsteps approach her shop. 

“What can I do- ah, mornin’ Jo. How ya feelin?”

With one hand securing the slack of her trousers, Jo used her other to gesture an “A-okay” towards the ghoul’s pleasantries. 

“I imagine you’re here for your suit?”

Jo nodded. 

“I have to say; I really think it’s time you retired the poor gal. She’s seen too much action,” Daisy pled for the blue jumper while pulling it onto the counter and wiggling a few fingers through some precariously placed holes. 

Jo ignored her urging and blindly filched the suit from her hands. Frantically she inspected each pocket and felt along every threadbare seam all while ignoring the familiar slipping sensation of her ill-fitted pants. 

“I think you’re looking for these,” Daisy presented two gold rings hung from a thin chain around her extended finger. 

The frenzied vault dweller immediately noticed the shiny cord that bound the rings together and stopped herself from snatching it as vulgarly as she did her ruined suit.

“Figured they were in a pocket –instead of on your hand- for a reason. You can keep the necklace; I don’t have any use for it anymore.” Daisy took hold of Jo’s hand and kindly poured the jewelry into her open palm. Then leaning close to her round, tired eyes she sweetly whispered, “Us old ladies gotta stick together. If you ever need anything, you just come see me.” 

For the first time in a long time Jo smiled back, gratefully accepting the offering. 

“Now, let’s see if I can find something in a better fit for ya! There’s no way I’m letting you leave Goodneighbor without some decent clothes!”

Jo’s tepid grin remained while watching the busy ghoul fuss over her. There was no need to fight against Daisy’s efforts knowing full well it was time to move on from the abused and ragged suit. Among other things, she thought to herself, her eyes sinking to the gold bands in her fist. 

“You’re a peach, Daisy. Thank you.”

Daisy looked up from a pile of clothes she uncovered from a battered steamer trunk tucked behind her counter. “O-oh of course, sweetie.” She emerged from her squat with various articles of clothing and an armful of leather armor pieces; but it was an exquisite black leather jacket that instantly caught Jo’s eye. 

“Just don’t go tellin’ anybody else; I gotta reputation to uphold.” Daisy warned as she released the pile onto her counter and spread the pieces out for Jo to browse. “Here we are! Some wasteland couture to put on your tab. I think these should fit you just fine.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to have some clean underwear stuffed in that trunk too, would ya?” 

Daisy laughed, "I think got something tucked away back here for ya," and walked toward the backroom of her store.


	8. Free Show

With nothing else to do but keep from replaying his last conversation with Jo over and again Hancock turned his sights to a foggy and bared window overlooking the main courtyard of Goodneighbor. Try as he may her last few words echoed through his thoughts as he twirled a serrated combat knife through his nimble fingers and watched the aimless wanderings of his derelict citizens.

 “She’s right,” he snarled, “I don’t owe her a damn thing.”

 Even so, he disliked the idea of leaving things as they were. He was half convinced Jo would embark on her unlikely rescue mission without him; _and why not? She’s seems capable enough. It has nothing do with me_. Except if this Kellogg was in fact involved with the Institute then it had everything to with the ghoul mayor who publicly reviled and fought against exactly what the phantom organization stood for.

 He sucked in a hasty breath and growled through the exhale. “Ughh, fine. Crow for dinner it is.”

 Hancock left his brooding having met his resolve and exited his crumbling office keen to join Jo before she took off on her own. Making his way to the twisted stairway of the center vestibule, he stumbled upon a handful of his Neighborhood watchmen crowded around one of the many broken windows that lined the open hallway. Curious, he meandered toward the oblivious huddle.

 “Who we spying on, boys?”

 “Boss!” their surprise rang out in unison as the gang of hapless goons spun toward their mayor’s calling.

Having created an opening between the row of startled, fedora donning heads, Hancock was able to catch sight of what they were clustered to see. From their second story view a mostly naked vault dweller hopped on one foot while what appeared to be a pathetic attempt to fit into a pair of skinny jeans just outside Daisy’s store.

“Well shiiiiit.” Hancock delightedly moved closer to the dusty, split window pane with his brow high into his hat and a forgotten cigarette burning in the hold of his fingers.

The huddle returned to formation around him, each of their open-mouthed profiles unnervingly close to his _front row seat._ Their heavy breathing and wheezy titters soon tore him from the splendor of the free show. No longer feeling as amused he stared flatly at the lewd reflections in the dirty glass.

“Don’t you boys have a neighborhood to watch? Get back to work!” 


	9. Whatever Means Necessary

“What the hell are you doing, Jo?”

Daisy fled from her backroom to where Jo wrestled with a defiant pair of pants at the front gates of Goodneighbor. “Good grief, woman! You could’ve changed upstairs!”

Frustrated with her thwarted efforts, Jo relinquished the fight with the constrictive denim, wadding and tossing them to the flustered storeowner.

“Two hundred years and six months later, and I still can’t get rid of the baby weight.”

“Come on!” Daisy skirted to Jo’s back and hurriedly shoved her toward the privacy of her store. “I’m positive there won’t be one complaint about your figure from the peanut gallery,” she snipped while throwing a _shame-on-you_ look to the nearby spectators. “And though I’m thankful you had the decency to keep your under garments on how bout we move away from the spotlight and I’ll get ya a different pair of pants.”

“I don’t know, I’d say that’s a good look for her,” Hancock smiled widely emerging from side door of the statehouse. Daisy rolled her eyes refusing to dignify his levity with a response as she finished pushing Jo to the steps of her upstairs residence.

 “You, missy, take these and wait up there a hot minute.” She piled a pair of clean underwear along with a set of light under clothes into Jo’s hands. “I’ll toss you up some slacks in a sec!”

 Jo nodded obediently but snatched the leather jacket from the counter before trudging up the steps to Daisy’s loft.

 “John,” Daisy said in a belabored tone turning toward the snickering mayor with her arms crossed. “You need something?”

“Just here to pick-up my new partner in crime.”

“Lord! wipe that obnoxious smirk off your face. This ain’t the first time you seen someone naked.” She huffed and returned to the opened steamer trunk behind her counter.

“Be that as it may,” Hancock said in a stately manner, “I am but a simple man…more or less.” He shrugged his shoulders with the same sly grin. “Anyway, how she seem, Daisy?” He asked while discreetly petting a finger to the inside of his arm.

“Much better, looks better too,” she responded while holding a fresh pair of pants in front of her discerning view.

“I’ll say,” Hancock cackled.

“Don’t get cute. You give her something to clean her up then?”

“Now would I be the much beloved mayor of this cozy little community if I didn’t?” Hancock winked while lighting another cigarette.

“Ha! More like much beloved _bullshitter_. But good. You keep an eye on her and don’t let her poison herself to death with god knows what before she can find that baby of hers.”

“Psycho.”

A familiar, disembodied voice snuck up on the both of them. Jo revealed herself from the staircase still pants-less, wearing a form fitted black top covered by the stylish leather jacket. Her same empty expression stared pointedly at the pair of black eyes. “--to help me fight. I’ll use whatever means necessary to get to my son.”

She finished her descent and approached the speechless storeowner kindly taking the jeans from her hands. “I’m aware of the dangers, Daisy, but the dangers out there are not only stronger than me, they outnumber me too; that reality alone is more ruthless than any chem hangover.”

“Oh Jo.” Daisy released her grip and turned her gaze away.

Jo easily slid into the new pair. Zipping the metal together she looked again to the doting ghoul. “Really, Daisy… Thank you.”

She then turned toward Hancock behind her, “and thank you. But don’t think this means I won’t use again.”

Hancock lowered his chin to his chest, peering up from the dark shadow his hat cast over his leathery face. “no judgements here, sister. You do what you gotta. Just know, I got your back.”

 The corners of her mouth curled pleasantly into the slight curve of her cheekbones. Hancock, secretly surprised at the rush of blood that filled his own cheeks, couldn’t help but hope for more opportunities to see that smile again. _Fuck’s sake, what am I? Ten?_

 “I take it you’re still interested tagging along with this freak then?” She asked while sliding on some lightweight armor pieces over her arms and torso.

 “You heard right, sister.” Hancock coolly glided to where she continued piecing the armor together and pinned closed a missed buckle on her back. “So let’s say we get this freak show on the road then, shall we?”


	10. New Side Quest Unlocked

“Damn, it’s bright! Gotta be a bar around here somewhere.” Hancock muttered dryly, pressing down on his tri-corner hat to shield his eyes from the unfamiliar light of day.

 The sweltering sun hung high above the ruined skyscrapers of the Boston Commons and beat mercilessly against the melted skin of his neck. He wondered how Jo could put up with wearing all that leather and move as quickly as she did. They had only begun their journey at the vault dweller’s leading and already Hancock wished for the cool relief of an ice cold Gwinette Stout.

 “Shoulda brought Buddy with us.”

 “We won’t be out here for long,” Jo called from behind her back as she climbed atop a rusted-out city bus that blocked the stretch of road. “Gotta swing by Diamond City before heading to Fort Hagen.”

 Hancock stopped in his tracks struggling to make out the darkened _Jo-shaped-figure_ that loomed above him traced by blinding rays of sunlight.

 “You’re not serious. Diamond City?”

 She remained quiet apart from the crunching of rubble and trash that smooshed beneath her feet as she hopped off the bus onto the other side of their besieged path.

 Hancock grumbled a string of various expletives while hurrying over the cumbersome road block back beside his silent companion.

 “You know they don’t exactly allow ghouls in their city, right?”

 “Bobbi got in,” Jo curtly replied bringing her pip boy to her face and pressing a few random buttons until a GPS map displayed on its dark green screen. “Oh wait. She was wearing a gas mask. -Got something like that with you?”

 “I’ll wait outside.”

 “Suit yourself.”

 “Tch.” His clenched mouth curled into a snarl as he tossed a sideways glance over his shoulder. Focused on anything else but her, he nearly collided with her backside once again unaware of her abrupt halt.

 “Seriou—“

 His grievance was cut short by the clammy palm of Jo’s hand thrusted against his half-opened mouth.

 “You hear that?”

 “Mmur mmud?”

 “Shh, listen.” Jo pressed her hand firmer against his face.  She turned her furrowed and tight-lipped profile toward a row of blasted-out buildings closest to them.

 Hancock studied her concern, past the unapologetic hand that muffled his speech, then glimpsed to her other hand slowly sliding for the .44 strapped to her thigh. Then he heard it. A faint shuffling of phantom footsteps. Jo removed her hold on him so he too could reach for the firepower slung to his back.

 “I wouldn’t –if I were you.” An unarmed stranger appeared before them exiting the nearby ruins. He was tall, spindly and guarded by heavy pieces of rusted, spiked armor.

 “Or else what?” Hancock mocked pulling out his shotgun.

 “Let’s not make this messy,” the stranger warned, his bloodshot leer signaling to the extra set of footsteps that steadily approached them.

 Two more similarly dressed strangers lurked forward from the shadows of the dilapidated buildings behind them; the barrels of their pipe pistols soon pressed against the back of both their heads.

 “Fucking raiders,” Hancock spat, lowering his gun.

 A triumphant and slimy smile stretched across the unarmed raider’s prickly face as his red eyes slithered across the curves of Jo’s body until resting on the pip boy around her wrist.

 “Not too many other drifters with a fancy accessory like that. Definitely the girl I’ve been looking for!”

 “What do you assholes want,” Jo hissed. 

 “Oh! What do we want? Well, I’d say it’s more like we have something _you_ want.” The garish brute mewled deviously while pulling out a familiar hat, a _Press_ tag pinned to its side. “Or should I say _someone?_ ”

 Jo felt a violent jolt of adrenaline shoot down her spine witnessing Piper’s belonging spin carelessly around the greasy finger of a raider with a death wish. She trembled and gritted her teeth; it was all she could do to keep from pulling the trigger on the sleezy sneer that mercilessly goaded her.

 “Easy, Jo,” Hancock whispered.

 “Now, don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. This ain’t my fault.” the impertinent raider said shamelessly carrying on with his taunt. “Not. At. All. No, this is your fault, I'm afraid.”

 Both Jo and Hancock’s expressions twisted from their shared confusion.

 “Fin,” the slimy voice croaked, “you remember Fin –weasely motherfucker, liked to slum it at that shithole Goodneighbor?” At this he shot a cheeky smile to Hancock. “See, he owed us caps. A _lot_ of caps. And you went off and popped the shyster before he settled his debts.”

 Jo’s glare deepened.

 “I knew you’d catch on!” The raider praised, appreciating the ire in her eyes, “bring ten thousand caps to Kendall Square Apartments in three days and your cute friend lives. It’s that simple!” 

“Ten thou- you’re shittin’ me!” Hancock internally recoiled at the ridiculous demand. “That asshole conned you idiots outta ten thousand caps?”

The raider’s smug grin immediately evaporated at Hancock’s flagrance, “consider it compounded with interest. All things considered, it’s quite a generous request.”

“My, my. Those are some big words for a raider,” Hancock teased, “So maybe you’re not a complete idiot.”

“Still pretty fucking stupid to be threatening us,” Jo joined.

Red filled the crook’s harried features; it was worth the pistol whip both Jo and Hancock suffered by his thug goons that detained them from behind.

“Cute,” he scorned. “Ten thousand caps. Kendall Square Apartments. Three days. And I think I’ll treat myself to a little sum’in extra on account of my hurt feelins.” Violently he ripped the pip boy from Jo’s arm, easily overpowering her halfhearted resistance. “Well! Be seein’ ya!” he crooned, snapping the stolen device onto his forearm and spinning toward the same building he entered from.

The accompanying raiders, with pistols still drawn, slowly encircled their captured prey until they stood at either side of their de facto leader. Then following his lead, walked backwards with their sights and aims on Jo and Hancock until they were hidden again amidst the ruins of the Boston Commons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI For future reference I won't be going into detail for any of the main storyline quests from the game apart from mentioning a few key points when the time comes. I wanted the main focus to be on the relationship that's developed between Jo and Hancock instead of focusing on a story that we've all played through at least a bazillion times (lol). So the next part will be one of the few quest-like chapters in this fic (even though this quest doesn't exist in-game -but I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you all enjoy it too!).
> 
>  
> 
> Please comment thoughts and opinions! I'd love some feedback as the story progresses! And thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this and my meager attempt at fanfiction!


	11. A Woman with a Plan

Atop the same strip of ruined road, Jo stood hunched, her f ace concealed by the outgrown tresses of her blunt bangs. It looked as if she were emitting a black swirling aura fueled by a quiet rage –or maybe Hancock was just hallucinating, regardless he felt a smidge of trepidation in approaching her. 

“You alright, boss?” With his hands in his pockets, he bent forward and cocked his head to see hers under the shroud of her walnut hair. He was surprised to see a blank expression, though at this point he probably shouldn’t have been; still, he at least expected her to seem - _ I don’t know, angry maybe _ ?

“Kendall Square Apart--  _ Camp Kendall _ ,” she whispered at her feet, then looked to the ghoul peeking up at her, “Across the Charles?”

“That’s the one,” he replied, still searching for signs of life past her frigid stare.

She straightened her  posture and wrung a hand over her awkwardly exposed wrist. “Only accessible by a  _ conveniently _ placed bridge... we’ll be surrounded.”

“Doesn’t exactly leave us with many options,” he added. “These raiders know what they’re doing. But I get the  feelin ’ you’re not about to give a single cap to their cause, huh?” He was catching on she wasn’t the type to be easily rattled. 

Jo flipped open a pair of aviators she uncovered from the pocket of her leather jacket and nodded to Hancock while sliding the shades over her eyes. Standing heroically with her hands moved onto her hips, she sucked in a deep breath and surveyed the path they had just come from. 

“Change in plans, Johnny,” she boldly stated . “ Time I  call in a favor.”


	12. Ghoul Sleuth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing a scene filled with heavy action! I welcome any and all constructive criticism!

In a dangerous corner of the Boston Commons, on the banks of the dead waters of the Charles River, a cluster of half-destroyed, boarded-up apartment complexes sat beneath the earie glow of a polluted night sky. Each of the three ramshackle buildings were connected by a series of precarious, makeshift catwalks and patrolled by a gang of poorly tattooed hoodlums armed with automatics. Among the gang of sadly adorned no-good-doers, one stood center square in the courtyard of the crude encampment staring laboriously at a fellow hoodlum.  

“Roy, get the hell over here! We're on guard duty!”  

“Oh shit, for real?” the one called _Roy_ ran a hand over the spikes of his mohawk. He had one foot in a mostly demolished building, near a dirty bedroll and busted radio, and the other balanced on the broken pavement of the courtyard.  

“Yeah, for real, ya moron! Where’s your gun?”  

“By my bed...but hey, I was just taking a leak and my piss is green –like, glowing green.” 

“Green? What the fuck are you ta-- go get your fucking gun! Guard duty!”  

“Fuck, fine! Chill out, Phil –wait, what the fuck is that?” Roy pointed to a large cylindrical object that bowled toward them from out of the darkness. It rolled to a stop, tapping harmlessly against the booted foot of the armed raider.  

“Is that uh…” _Phil_ reached down and grabbed the oily globoid, “Holy shit, I think it’s a Mirelurk egg…” 

Two more eggs rolled to their feet from outside the reach of their encampment’s lights; their mysterious arrival was followed by an unsettling low tremor. The two ill-fated raiders turned their fearful sights toward the ominous movement, growing in sound and speed. They looked to one another watching as the color drained from each of their weathered faces and hollered as loud as their voices would allow, “MIRELURKS!” 

A thunderous stampede of claws clicked treacherously against the rubble of the courtyard and burst furiously into the raider-staked square. Phil swung the barrel of his automatic toward the horde and released a flurry of bullets onto the hellish prawn-like monstrosities. His resistance was futile against their armor-like carapaces, and his end was dealt by a freakishly large pincer through the soft meat of his belly.  

Roy sprinted in vain for the gun laid across his bedroll as he too met a similar demise. He sputtered a stream of blood past his chapped lips while his eyes fluttered downward to see the tip of a snapping claw where his navel should have been.  

Back-up appeared from the few still awake, firing from the tops of roofs and along the exposed levels of the complex. The rest of the camp, rousing from drunken stupors, fumbled sluggishly to meet the onslaught. Twelve unorganized and hung-over raiders proved a weak match against four frenzied Mirelurks, as the mutated crustaceans scuttled up the ramps of debris to the upper reaches of the apartments, snapping and piercing any unfortunate enough to cross their war-path.  

Amidst the carnage, a concentrated heat wave moved unnoticed through the higher reaches of the buildings. Stealthily the blur of refracted light drifted past rampaging Mirelurks and up on oblivious raiders separated from the pack, bringing the edge of its serrated blade to their unguarded throats and slicing.  

“Jax, back me up! JAX!” a haggish raider yelled over the net-tangled shell that steadily approached her. She feverishly struggled to change the magazine on her gun and keep from tripping over her backwards footwork. “Get back, you fish-faced motherfucker! –Jax!? Back-up!”  

It was a useless plea; her back soon met the end of the hallway and though she was able to reload, the few shots she managed to squeeze out did nothing to the stop the severing of her torso from her legs. Her upper body along with her oozing entrails slid against the yellowed wallpaper and thumped against the boards of the floor. Now able to see past her clawed assailant, she witnessed in her last few conscious moments the cause for her comrade’s absenteeism. His jugular peeled open, _Jax_ fell to his knees gurgling past the gore that filled his mouth until dropping completely to the floor. A disembodied knife hung above his lifeless body.  

The dirtied blade attached to the see-through blur quickly moved on and up the ramps to the roof. Having reached the rooftop, the ghostly assassin slowly floated toward a raider shooting at the Mirelurks below. Before reaching its intended prey the effects of its own transparency began to wane finally revealing a rugged fellow in a red.  

Hancock ceased his next step seeing his cover had worn off but continued to advance once he ascertained his victim had not yet noticed his presence. He crept until he was directly behind the jostling muscles of the raider’s back, his knife inches from the tearing into the thin flesh of his neck.  

“I fucking knew it!” 

Hancock pulled back before finishing the job and cranked his neck to see the voice that called from behind him. A different raider stood atop the same ramp Hancock had taken, and he aimed his gun at the ghoul sleuth.  

“Fucking prick! Using a Stealthboy! Did you lure these shits here too?!” the newly appeared raider spitefully asked.  

Rising from his crouch and raising his scarred hands above his tri-corner hat Hancock showed his signature smile, “heyy, take it easy, yeah? Can’t blame a ghoul for trying.” 

“Sure, we can,” another voice responded.  

Hancock’s original target had since moved from the roof’s wall and pressed his gun against the mayor’s neck.  

“Two against one? And all I have here is this measly blade,” he complained, wriggling the weapon in the hold of his hand and reflecting the gleam of the moonlight against its sharpened blade.  “You, raiders sure don’t play fair.”  

“ _Fair_ ain’t exactly in our vocabulary,” the raider said staring down the sights of his automatic to the cool ghoul’s cocky expression.  

“Ain’t exactly in mine either,” the dubious mayor warned.  

A loud bang rang out; the raider at Hancock’s back dropped, pieces of his head spewed off the edge of the building they loitered.  

“Wha-,” The raider left standing jumped back alarmed and confused. Spinning his head in either direction he scrambled to figure out where the shot came from. “Where the fu--” 

Hancock made use of the tedious wretch’s befuddlement flinging his knife from his grip with deadly precision. A lovely squelch sounded the moment the blade imbedded itself deep within the raider’s skull.  

“Ooo, bulls-eye!”  he reveled in his accuracy while pulling the knife free of its victim’s face, then stood and waved a large salute to a parking garage the next street over.  

Hancock double checked his surroundings. It appeared he was alone with all the action taking place far below his feet. He crouched again and crept over the rickety boards of the catwalk spanning a fifty-foot drop from his building to the next. Two more dead raiders awaited him on the adjoining rooftop, each with a bullet hole through the brain. 

“Damn, I oughtta make sure not to get on MacCready’s bad side,” Hancock whispered while stepping over a lifeless body and onto a wooden freight crate. The primitive gondola, attached to a set of poorly strung cables, was connected to the third and tallest building of the complex. “Don’t worry, Ms. Piper, we’re coming for ya.”  


	13. A Little Spikey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the small window of time before Jo and Hancock (and MacCready) embark on their daring rescue mission. (Just some good old fluffy fluffiness!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for taking FOREVER to post this chapter! The past two weeks were crazy and I was only able to write a tiny bit at a time. FYI I have half of the next chapter done and will be working on it until it's finished -hopefully- by tonight!

Past a pair of binoculars, a set of cartoonishly large eyes narrowed in at a long-forgotten parking garage. The googly eyed spectator scanned over the concrete structure until spotting a flat-top cap hunkered on the roof.

“MacCready’s in position,” Jo stated matter-of-factly.

Staked inside the top floor of an empty office building, Jo continued to spy across the Charles, moving her sights from the garage to the apartment complex they’d soon assail.

“So now we wait, huh?” Hancock asked, plopping his rear onto patches of scorched carpet and settling his back against the wall opposite of where Jo focused her attention.

Never pealing her eyes from her careful surveillance, she grunted a kind of affirmation to his question.

He idly nodded to no one and reached for a dented box of Mentats hidden in his coat. Crunching on the few tossed in his mouth, he watched as Jo dutifully probed Camp Kendall. She was bent over with her knees pressed against the floor and her elbows on the rotted sill. As far as Hancock was concerned, her tightly fitted jeans left little to the imagination; and the way she leaned, showing off the ample curves of her behind – _and then some_ , was nothing short of enticing.

“Gotta few hours before sunset. Why not take a load off?” He implored while shaking the box of _fun_ in his hand. “Relaxing before a high-pressure job can be quite effective.”

Jo moved the binoculars away from her face and turned her icy stare to his.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. _Woof –if looks could kill..._

“Yeah, yeah,” Hancock said, closing his eyes and dropping the offer onto his lap. “I get it’s not for everyone.”

His voice carried a slight patronizing tone to it, more so than intended; and he hazard a glimpse to the kind of scorn awaiting him. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see an outstretched and open hand extended his way. He lifted an ‘ _are-you-sure'_ gaze to Jo’s face. She lifted an ‘ _I-haven't-got-all-day'_ brow in return, then waved her fingers back and forth as if to hurry him up.

“Heh, heh. Alright then.” Hancock gladly flicked the rattling tin to Jo which she caught with ease.

She popped it opened and stared at its contents. Keeping her eyes glued onto the chalky bits, she stood up and moved to where Hancock sat. She dropped her back against the wall and slid until she was seated next to him.

“Unfamiliar with the brand?” He asked, recognizing her apparent hesitation. “I’m a Mentats ghoul myself -makes me feel _intellectual_.”

Jo’s mouth twitched into a small smile as she pinched a single tablet between her fingers and threw it in her mouth. She swallowed it whole, then shut the tin before returning it to its owner.

“Nah, I'm pretty familiar. Popped these bitches like candy before you were even born.”

“You ain’t kiddin’?” Hancock slumped his head forward to get a better look at her and to show his uncertainty. 

“Yeah, well, maybe you haven’t noticed but I can be a little... _spikey_. Mentats tend to make me more _approachable,_ you could say.”

“Ha. Spikey, that’s one way to put it,” He chuckled. “But, I mean the whole, ‘before you were born’ thing. Daisy mentioned somethin’ bout it... not sure how to wrap my head around that one.”

“Right,” Jo said as she curled her slender fingers along the nape of her neck and scratched, “frozen like a box of fishsticks, I was. Damn, I miss fishsticks.”

Hancock brushed aside her prewar jargon itching to ask, “one of those freaky Vaultech experiments then?”

“Bingo,” Jo said.

He moved his head back against the wall, staring out the window-shaped hole and chewing on her unbelievable confirmation.

“Hell, two hundred somethin’ years old with an ass like that? Hats off to ya, sister.”

“No preservatives added,” she flatly replied. “Don’t forget you have to head over before I do. MacCready should have a few rotters ready for you by the time you get to Kendall Square.”

“Don’t you worry, princess. Soon as the sun touches the water, I'll make my way,” Hancock reassured her. “You gonna be fine on your own till then?”

She grumbled another kind of affirmation, folding her arms together and closing her eyes, “shake me awake on your way out.”

 Hancock reached for the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear and listened to her relaxed breathing deepen. Lighting his smoke, he moved his eyes to her sleeping face and felt a little sorry for her.

_Spikey_ , he thought. _I get the feelin’ you’ve seen your fair share of troubles long before your Vaultie days._ Though it was hard to imagine a pretty woman having a hard knocks kind of life prewar. Everything he’d seen or read on those times made the whole era sound like paradise compared to the life he and the rest of the Commonwealth had known. But it was the look in her eye, that seasoned faraway stare that reflected a life of perpetuated turmoil. Like she was used to suffering; maybe that’s how she could remain as relatively calm as she did while searching for her kid. At least, that’s what he guessed.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice the foreign weight on his shoulder until it about tipped him over. Steadying himself, he looked over to see Jo’s walnut mop pressed against his arm. She was out cold. He moved his weight against hers, attempting to slowly move her back, figuring it the _gentlemanly_ thing to do. Instead, his attempt was thwarted by her arms snaking around his torso and her leg hike over his lap. He was both shocked and impressed that she stayed asleep through the whole contorted maneuver, and that _Miss Piper wasn’t kiddin’_.

“So this is what she meant by spoonin’…” he said to himself while raising his arms above his head and feeling unsure of where to put them.


	14. A Job Well Done

Jo crossed the Charles beneath the bridge that funneled into Camp Kendall with the help of a Stealthboy and the cover of nighttime. Fearlessly, she traversed the dark waters, rounding the banks of the raider encampment and toward a nearby Mirelurk nest. 

Once close enough, she bobbed her head out of the river relieved to see the horde of chittering mollusks ashore, gorging themselves on a pungent pile of ghoul flesh a good ten feet away from their nests. Rotting feral corpses proved an irresistible treat for the mutant shellfish; she had made sure to relay this fact to her partner as he was charged with laying the tasty lure.

Hancock had delivered.

Satisfied with her findings, she quietly waded toward the muddied sands where the eggs laid nestled in bunches of seaweed and fish-heads. She was careful and efficient, snatching the three slimy, encapsulated Mirelurk babies and cradling them in the hold of the drenched cloth sack strapped across her body. 

Butted against the back entrance of the apartment complex stood a large, red-bricked and hollowed storefront; it casted a wide shadow over the poorly guarded path that led into the raider den. Jo stayed low to the ground as she crossed the street toward its blackened cover, and then waited. A light tap met her shoulder, one she anticipated. An invisible Hancock waited at her back. 

Together they bided their time until the pack of Mirelurks finished their barbaric mastication and scampered back to their half-empty nests. Soon, a chorus of distressed, ear-piercing wheezing echoed through the alley –as expected.

Hancock took his cue and tossed a few pebbles to their skittish feet while Jo waved an egg high above her see-through head. Successfully, they managed to catch the wild mutants’ frenzied attention. Jo then took her cue and bowled the egg toward the center of the courtyard, waiting for the distance between the Mirelurks and the complex to be near nil before rolling the remaining two. 

All the pieces had now been set in their plan.

“The more raiders you can take out on your way there, the better,” Jo reiterated.

“Roger that,” Hancock replied skulking toward the natural ramp of fallen rock and debris of the first and closest apartment building. 

Jo scooted in the opposite direction of Hancock, creeping along the dimly lit rails that overlooked the harbor and keeping an eye on the brutal _man versus beast_ onslaught they had spurred on. She sidled along the shadows for the alley between the third and second apartment buildings, determining it a decent enough place to shoot at the ground level raiders unnoticed.

For a while she succeeded in doing just that. The raiders were too preoccupied to notice that half the felling of their comrades was caused by bullets instead of mutilation; and, even if they had, they’d just as easily chalk it up to crossfire casualties. Jo banked on that.

Another piercingly loud wheeze tore through the courtyard; the Mirelurk at a short distance from her tipped onto its shell, its raptorial legs falling to its sides in defeat. Two surviving raiders stood over its corpse and appeared to be the last of the ground level rats.  Jo surmised by their haggard breathing and open wounds that they were on their last leg, and proceeded to shoot a series of well-aimed bullets through each of their skulls.

 And then it was quiet.

 She poked her head past the cover of the alley. Her artificial stealth long since worn off, she made sure to scan over her surroundings diligently before stepping out into the bloodied courtyard.

 It was still quiet.

She was convinced, and stepped out backwards. Her sights followed the length of the tallest building all the way to the roof, where Hancock and Piper would be. Unable to see what she wanted, but trusting in their survival, she turned to behold the carnage sprayed across every decrepit surface of the annihilated encampment.

The raiders were dead. The Mirelurks were dead.

“Time to collect,” she said to herself.


	15. Bullets, Caps, and Chems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh been too long since I last posted! Please enjoy my latest installment; It's definitely longer than previous chapters.  
> As always, please leave a comment letting me know what you think and feel free to offer me your critiques!  
> (And enjoy the Jo Jo reference if you're at all familiar with the manga/anime! XD)  
> If you're at all interested, I am very on board with getting to know my readers! So please follow me on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/joyjoysbizarreadventure); I'd love to answer any questions or just geek out together. Unfucktheworld updates posted on tumblr as well as my own fanart and other fallout related things. :)

Bullets, caps, and chems; so far it was a good haul. Each corpse she turned over and patted down came with their own bounty. But digging for these treasures proved loud work; and past the obnoxious jangling of her uncovered goodies a resentful mob of survivors came upon her. It was only until she was cloaked by a broad silhouette did she notice its looming presence.       

“Sweetheart, was this all you?”      

Hearing the gruff and croaky voice, the image of that harried scoundrel spinning Piper’s cap around his finger flashed before her eyes. She stayed crouched with her back to him, discreetly reaching for the automatic laid over the body she had been searching.      

“You must love steppin’ all over this lil heart o’ mine,” he croaked again, “But, I gotta hand it to ya... you clearly got yourself some MASSIVE balls!”      

Jo could easily envision his lewd face and the type of tasteless gestures he was surely miming behind her back.      

“Even took out my bitch boss,” he said in a congratulatory tone, poking a hitched thumb to the tall building behind them. “How’d ya manage to do that?”     

“Magic,” she flatly crooned with a single jazz hand. Glancing back to the lot of them, she counted the same two raiders as before in his company; each was holding a locked and loaded pipe pistol aimed in her direction.      

_Three against one; bad odds_ , she calculated.      

“So how’d you shits get so lucky? Thought I was pretty thorough,” she shrewdly asked, sneaking her other hand to her leather jacket. A uniquely packaged psycho she had found earlier amidst the encampment’s spoils now waited in the interior pocket of her coat.     

“The dumpster behind the buildi—guh!” one of the underling raiders attempted to answer, but was soundly interrupted by his superior’s pointed elbow shoved into his unguarded belly.   

“Shut the fuck up, would’ya?”    

The unruly gang momentarily distracted, Jo clutched onto the pyscho and brought it to her leg; “Every man for himself, right?”     

In one fluid movement, Jo shanked the plunger’s needle deep within the soft tissue of her thigh. She sprang to her feet as the violent surge of icy fire rushed through her veins. Its ferocious flow of energy released within her, seizing her body and engorging her muscles. It was a familiar and powerful feeling until it wasn’t.     

“Shit! She just took something!” an unharmed underling nervously shouted, one unsteady jerk away from squeezing the trigger.     

“Don’t shoot!” their would-be leader threw his arm in front of the shaking barrel, “Not until I’ve had some fun at least; I like em’ feisty!”     

“I don’t know, boss, she’s creeping me out!” The other chimed in through an overstressed cough. He nudged his head toward the disturbing mannequin-like stillness she displayed, having not so much as twitched a single muscle since taking the injection.      

“Hey, don’t ya know a lil chem high can make things more interestin’? Relax,” he assured his jumpy companions; then extended a hand towards her back.    

 “Oh?” she deviously cooed over her shoulder with a flexed hand lifting her bangs like a visor against her forehead. A humorously dilated pupil that covered the whites of her eye beamed a venomous contempt to her pursuer. “You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you come right to me?”     

Before the tips of his fingers could reach her, she spun on her heel with unbelievable speed; so incredibly, in fact, that the trio only saw the juddering automatic in the holds of her hands much too late. With fantastical precision she shot a series of bullets forming the letter _“S”_ , of all things, into the harried raider’s chest.    

No more hesitation, the two armed raiders retaliated with an unforgiving stream of led that burst from their pistols, and past the faltering steps of their hemorrhaging superior.   

Like an untouchable shadow, she darted beneath their shots; then in a seamless movement, pivoted and vaulted herself into a summersault until she had flanked them.  She popped into a stand and squared herself before the luckless raiders. The weight of her automatic rested on her hip as she pointed its sights to their panicked pacing.    

Her eyes, large and round, were opened as wide as she could force them. A long and eerie smile stretched across her proud face as she uttered the last words they were likely to hear; “Death has come for you, evildoers... and I AM ITS SHROUD!”    

“RAHHH! Shut up and die, you crazy bitch!” A hysterical raider thrust his aim towards her and furiously clicked on empty, too overtaken by his panic to recognize his error.   

His surviving companion, having some wits left about him, shakily slipped a few bullets into the rusty chamber of his own gun.

“Useless!” Jo cried theatrically -out over the rapid firing pow of her bouncing weapon, “Your days of crime end here tonight!” 

An unholy choir of maniacal laughter and crackling gun-powder filled the open space. The doomed band of raiders was mercilessly blasted with each spec of firepower she had at her disposal. Even as they lay sprawled on the ground, unquestionably dead, she relentlessly shot into their mutilated corpses until there was nothing but smoke escaping the barrel of her automatic.    

“Blue!” a brassy and songful exclamation echoed excitedly off the dilapidated walls of the courtyard.   

Jo twisted, flailing her gummy arms toward the pair of rushed footfalls that came for her. A sickly smile and pale complexion drenched in thick globs of blood-splatter greeted Piper and Hancock’s arrival.   

“Hoooooly shit,” Hancock gulped seeing the gruesome state she was in and the dam of bodies at her feet which had been turned into a sopping pile of fleshy mush.   

“Jesus, Blue! Are you alright?!” Piper hurried to her grinning and battle-soaked friend.  

“Ah! Mistress of Mystery! What brings you to Kendall Square on such a foul night?” Jo met her advance, squeezing onto both her hands. 

“Jo?” Piper fought back a look of disgust seeing fine bits of gore drip off Jo’s chin; though she was more troubled by her aberrant demeanor and crazed look in her eye; then it hit her, “Shit, Jo! Are you high?!”     

“Oh Mistress, it’s been too long since last we met!” Unperturbed by Piper’s –or rather, the Mistress of Mystery’s repulsion, Jo wound her bloodied hands around her waist and dipped her, planting a very wet and very much unwarranted kiss.   

“Nice,” Hancock grinned.  

“mmMMWHAT THE HELL, BLUE!?” Piper thrashed against Jo’s hold; but she felt as immovable as a one ton anvil. “Oh god, Jo! I’m not the Mistress of ANYTHING and you’re not the Silver Shroud,” she screeched between forced smooches, trying to slip a hand between her face and Jo’s puckered lips.  

Jo finally withdrew her iron grip from the distraught reporter and hoisted her hands onto her hips. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” she bellowed loudly and robotically with her head thrown back, “Funny as ever, Mistress!”

Readjusting her posture she at last took notice of the fetching ghoul in Piper’s shadow, “And what do we have here? Why, If it isn’t the inscrutable Mayor of Goodneighbor AND Original American Hooligan-risen-from-the-dead, John Hancock!”  

 “How’s it hangin? So you gonna share some of that good shit, or what?” Hancock asked poking his head around where she stood, “Tell me there’s more.”  

“Still looking like a melted piece of licorice, I see!” She gleefully exclaimed as a hunger pain noisily erupted from her body. While Hancock’s head was bent toward her, still searching for leftover chems, she wrapped an arm around his neck and drew his cheek close to her lips, “Say, Ol’ chum, you wouldn’t mind if I take a little bite?”

His eyes went wide before a wily smile spread across his returned, relaxed expression.  “Maybe just a lick,” he mused demonstrating an inch’s length with his fingers.  

“Whoa-kay! break it up, you two!” Piper rushed between them. “Let’s not take advantage of the intoxicated girl, alright?” she did her best to peel Jo from the talking Melted Piece of Licorice. “Come on, Blue! Heel, Girl!”  

“Ha, you got nothin’ to worry bout with me, Sparky,” Hancock guaranteed. “Nothin’ sexier than consent.”  

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she laxly replied while waving a smooshed Fancy Lad in front of Jo’s panting face. “Fetch!” 

With a wagging tail, Jo hungrily dashed for the snack-cake thrown across the cemented yard. 

“What are we gonna do about her?” Piper asked the cavalier mayor busy fishing through the mess of severed limbs and other various bits of carnage with his buckled boots.

“Don’t gotta worry bout her either –a-ha!” Hancock squatted down to pick up the empty canister of psycho-jet he uncovered amidst the slaughtered remains, “boy, is she on a fun ride.” He stood back up shaking the plunger in his hand and testing its emptiness. “Anyway, you just focus on getting back to that little sister of yours. And as strong and capable as you are, I hope you don’t mind MacCready taggin’ along just to be on the extra safe side?” 

“I guess I don’t have a lot room to argue seeing as you all saved my skin. Ugh, fine.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said while shooting her a wink. “But, you can trust me. If anyone knows how to handle a crazed junkie, it’s this handsome ghoul.”

Piper showed a dramatic eye roll to his sentiment, “why do I have a bad feeling about this?”


End file.
